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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24229846">Fading Glory</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyTroll/pseuds/LadyTroll'>LadyTroll</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Gloryhammer Reverse!AU [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Gloryhammer (Band), Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Dark, Dark Fantasy, Gen, Paranoia, Roleswap, dark Angus McFife, dark Ser Proletius, reversed Gloryhammer, the usual GH disclaimer applies</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 18:40:51</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,293</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24229846</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyTroll/pseuds/LadyTroll</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Another day, another report, another failure. Ser Proletius has to brave the possible consequences alone this time, but the fates seem to be on his side, for Prince Angus has his own problems.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Gloryhammer Reverse!AU [7]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1540978</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Fading Glory</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Anyone unfamiliar with the long hallways and narrow side-corridors with dead ends that plagued the mighty Citadel of Dundee would have gotten lost for hours, had they not a clever companion to guide them. Looking from outside, nobody would be able to tell the true size of this place, and sometimes even its inhabitants themselves swore that it was, indeed, bigger on the inside – and that it was so due to magic, rather than simple clever designs and a group of architects and engineers wishing to show off their skill in hopes to increase their payment when it was due.</p><p>The first time he had been left to find the way on his own in the citadel had been, luckily, not the first time Ser Proletius had visited Dundee, and thus the Grand Master of Crail (still but a simple knight at the time) had gotten lost for merely ten minutes and had, also luckily, avoided embarrassment of asking directions, by following a servant girl back to the kitchens. Stealthily, of course, for his fellow knights would have never let him live down the embarrassment of having gotten lost within four walls.</p><p>The first time <i>the Hootsman</i> had been left to his own devices in the citadel had been, unfortunately, the first time ever that the barbarian visited Dundee – and it was much due to his own careless nature that made the man believe he was good without a guide, and therefore his bravery had resulted in Ser Proletius (still but a simple knight at the time) being dispatched on a one-man search and rescue mission when the barbarian had failed to show up three hours later.</p><p>(Proletius had found the Barbarian King of Unst, napping, inside the broom closet on the second floor, after being approached by two terrified servants who feared that there might be a bear loose in the castle. To give them their dues, the snores coming from the aforementioned closet had, indeed, reminded of a bear roaring.) </p><p>In the present day, Ser Proletius passed the broom closet, turned around the corner and continued down the hallway, his steps muffled by the carpet, as the empty suits of armour displayed on the right side of the corridor like solemn guards followed him with just as empty gazes of their helmets. There was the faint smell of mould and mud in the air, and sunlight, so scarce in the short winter days, shone through the windows on the left side, its warmth a mere echo of the might it would gain once the spring had arrived. Hopefully it was set to happen soon, for Ser Proletius was not sure how much longer he could take travelling to and from Dundee while sharp winds clawed at his face.</p><p>It had been a long winter (as a figure of speech, for what could be considered a winter in terms of weather had lasted maybe two weeks before it turned into a dreadful mixture of late autumn and early spring), and the last week in particular had felt like a year. There had been such short time between the wizards declining the generous offer that the Prince of Fife made them, and the kingdom’s forces sacking the City of Auchtermuchty overnight that it still felt like a strange dream – one he could well wake up from any moment now. Then, there had been a couple of months of gruelling work as they had combed first the city and then the surrounding lands in searches of the missing wizard, and then even more work as searches of a much greater scale had to be orchestrated. At some point, Set Proletius had taken upon himself, unwillingly, the embarrassing task of contacting the Questlords of Inverness – if only to inquire about the abilities of unicorns in what concerned their speed and stamina – which had earned him a lecture like no other, but not before he had been told off, in expressions far from polite, for losing the beast in the first place. After they had finished treating him like an inexperienced squire who did not know which end of the sword went into the opponent, the Questlords had, of course, kindly informed the Grand Master of Crail of everything he wanted to know. Which had, on its turn, left Proletius wishing they had not, for it became clear that they had promptly wasted a few months and that the wizard could well be on the opposite side of the country. Then there had been more of the aforementioned work and orchestrations, and yet, despite everything, the results had run down to a nay once again.</p><p>They had to be after a mighty sorcerer indeed. Either that, or the fellow or lass just had Lady Luck on their side.</p><p>(Which was, in any case, a better explanation than admitting that this was a task both the Knights of Crail and the king’s men had never before been presented with, thus creating a completely new territory for them to tread around in; and thread around they did, like blind chickens.)</p><p>So Proletius thought, up until the moment when a man showed up at the citadel, claiming he knew of a village hiding a wizard among them.</p><p>The journey to and from said village had been… tiresome, to say the least (Proletius would still prefer that, to another audience with the Questlords), and, if there had been any doubt before, then he emerged from it fully persuaded that he liked riding on giant eagles better than horses.</p><p>The only reason he agreed on a horse, thus earning the cold shoulder from his eagle upon their return, was that, just like in the case of Auchtermuchty, a giant eagle would be far too easy to detect in the sky. Not much of a surprise visit, particularly if people capable of throwing fire at you were involved.</p><p>At least the discomfort of their journey back had distracted him from… well, from everything else.</p><p>At least Ser Proletius now knew why the honourable couple had insisted on picking <i>these</i> soldiers to accompany him. There were always a few bad eggs among people, regardless of where one turned to look, and these, for all their subordinance, had been downright rotten on the inside.</p><p>And their battle style left wishing for better. His knights, the Knights of Crail, worked clean and without unnecessary cruelty, whereas this bunch clearly enjoyed being large and in charge of other people’s lives.</p><p>Chills of disgust run down Proletius’ back.</p><p>Being the Grand Master of Crail, he knew everything about sacrifices that had to be made in the name of the greater good and the glory of the kingdom. Those lessons were hammered into the squires’ heads every waking moment of their education. Especially, but not limited to, when the teachers drove them outside in less than fitting conditions.</p><p><i>“Be ready to sacrifice everything, for the Eternal Glory of Dundee,”</i> thus spoke the teachers and the older knights, and the Grand Master of Crail of those days, and thus spoke Ser Proletius now.</p><p>The wizards had been a threat. They were still a threat, as far as Proletius was concerned, and would continue to be so until the king’s men finally apprehended the fugitive. In battle, he would rather face a horde of dwarven mercenaries armed to their teeth than just one wizard armed with a staff. He knew what to expect of mercs. A wizard, however, was a terrifying force, a threat to the very core of how things run in the kingdom. </p><p>
  <i>No man or woman should have such terrifying power at their disposal – and there had been an entire city full of them. People who dared disregard the laws of the Kingdom of Fife and who were permitted to run their own little city-state within the kingdom’s borders regardless.</i>
</p><p>The prince had been kind to them. Prince Angus had extended a friendly hand to them, making an offer only a fool would refuse. A kind offer pridefully declined had seen the beginning of their end.</p><p>The prince had been kind to the peasants as well, and still they had resisted an order, thinking they were in the right to oppose the very Grand Master of Crail and the soldiers accompanying him. <i>Thinking they were in the right to oppose the messengers of the prince.</i></p><p>
  <i>For the Eternal Glory of Dundee!</i>
</p><p>Of course, he only learned of the lies after the deed had been done.</p><p>The Grand Master of Crail shook his head, before he reached out and knocked on the door in front of him.</p><p>There was no answer, and he did not expect one, either, before he opened the door and slipped inside a room part of which was occupied by a large oaken table. A row of windows almost at the very ceiling provided light during the day, and large, ornate, iron candleholders with wax candles in them would fulfil the same duty in the long evenings and nights spent developing strategies and discussing plans, as the light of flames bounced off the grey stone walls and the faces of people. Otherwise, the room was ascetic in its nature, with none of the decorations that the rest of the citadel saw, save for a flag adorned with the insignias of the Kingdom of Fife and its royal family at the back wall, two long benches at the opposite walls, and a grand chair behind the table.</p><p>In that chair, a figure sat, hunched over a map pinned to the four corners of the table that could have, by its sheer size, easily replaced a tablecloth, a jug of ale to their right, as though enforcing that image. The Hammer of Glory stood rested against the chair where its wielder had free access to it, should such need arise.</p><p>- Prince Angus, - after he had shut the door, Ser Proletius bowed to the figure, - I am afraid I come bearing bad news.</p><p>- Again?</p><p>Despite everything, the Prince of Fife did not appear angry, just exhausted. A human trait, one he only chose to demonstrate to those he trusted. He had spent most of the night awake, if one could judge by his dishevelled appearance, and who knew how much longer would he spend without sleep after hearing the news. Far too often in the past months had Proletius witnessed him pacing about the War Room like a trapped animal. Far too often had it seemed like the castle itself was pressing down on the prince, and far too often did a sinister frown replace the smile on the young face. Were it not for Princess Iona who was always there exactly when she was needed, he might have already been reduced to a shade of the man he used to be. </p><p>Servants whispered fearfully, behind closed doors and when they believed nobody there to hear them, how the prince would wander the castle, eyes like those of a madman, the Hammer of Glory gripped tightly in his hand as he jumped at the smallest sound of unknown origins.</p><p>Even right now, there was something in the green eyes that beheld the Grand Master of Crail. Where there had been joy and carelessness throughout the prince’s childhood, there was alarm and exhaustion now, the look of a hunted animal as it listens for predators in the night.</p><p>Ser Proletius wondered if, perhaps, the prince was not as ready to take up his father’s mantle as everybody, the king included, believed him to be. The king still held onto his life with surprising strength, in spite of the illness, and the royal physician claimed that he still had years ahead of him, even if those years were most likely going to be filled with discomfort and pain, even. His Majesty appeared to be taking it in a stride, yet the news of the fate of Auchtermuchty had diminished his smile, and the physician had, from there on, strongly recommended peace above everything else for the king. The prince was more than capable of handling the situation, he had said.</p><p>After all, he had done what he must, to keep the country from falling into a civil war.</p><p>Angus rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, simultaneously giving the Grand Master a sign to continue, with the other.</p><p>- The clue led us to a dead end. The fellow just wanted to salt the neighbour village. Something about the better pasture, at least that’s what we were able to learn.</p><p>The sound echoed in the large room ominously, as the prince struck the surface of the table with his fist hard enough for the lonely mug of ale to jump, before he stood and began pacing about the room, and Proletius already began contemplating how fast he could run – just in case.</p><p>Angus turned away from the Grand Master of Crail and clasped his hands behind his back.</p><p>- And the village? – there was a strange note to his voice – one that heralded peace before a storm should he not like the answer given to him.</p><p>- Far as anyone is concerned, goblins did it.</p><p>- Has our dear friend received his reward, then?</p><p>- Yes, - following these words was a smirk that flashed across Ser Proletius’ face, - and I am sure he found it more than befitting his accomplishment. If I may, my prince…</p><p>Angus made an impatient motion with his head, one that could be vaguely interpreted as permission. Proletius decided to take the risk.</p><p>- Is it not too much? – The question had been bothering the knight for a while, for, as insolent as the peasants had been, theirs were still the hands the work of which would be sorely missed, came the spring. – We could have just hung the traitor? The village…</p><p>- Your job, Grand Master, is to do as you are told! – the prince snarled, and Proletius retreated, his eyes jumping to where the Hammer of Glory – thankfully – still sat, as His Highness closed in. – You follow my orders. If I tell you to bow, <i>you will bow</i>. If I tell you to jump off your eagle mid-flight, <i>you will jump</i>. You are not irreplaceable, <i>so don’t forget your place!</i> Is that clear?</p><p>Proletius needed a moment, to pull himself together.</p><p>- Yes, Your Highness!</p><p>- Good. And now, - Angus swung around on his heel and strolled back to the table, as though nothing had happened, - onto more cheerful topics. Ser Proletius?</p><p>- Yes, - the Grand Master’s voice failed for a second, - Your Highness?</p><p>- It’s almost spring, - the prince traced a line on the map with his index finger, - and I want the troops ready to head out as soon as possible. We’ve spent enough time treading around out neighbours. It is time they learn they cannot do as they please. They still declaring war?</p><p>- Yes, Prince Angus.</p><p>- Then we’ll let them have it. And let our heroes who so fearlessly went right into the fray, to battle this wizard who is so mighty he erased himself from existence, have their rewards as well. I want them all to have prime seats they can witness the greatness of the battles from. Surely, you must know which spot city walls look their best from.</p><p>A moment of hesitation, short enough for the prince not to notice, before understanding, followed by a wicked grin, flashed across the Grand Master’s face.</p><p>- Will do, Prince Angus.</p><p>- Also, - Angus dropped into the chair again, - I was thinking about the army. Father has been neglectful and let their numbers dwindle by the year. It’s high time we replenish the kingdom’s forces.</p><p>- Your Highness?</p><p>- I recall there was a census, a few years ago. Have the scribes locate that information, and have them assess how many men the age of recruitment are there, peasants included. It’s their country, too, so for once they can do something for it. They’ve had it too good for too long.</p><p>- That will take some time, Your Highness, - Ser Proletius scratched behind ear, contemplating. – Both rounding them up <i>and</i> training them. Peasants rarely make good soldiers.</p><p>- We don’t need them to be <i>good</i>, just soldiers. Quantity before quality, this time. Most people are cowards deep down; if they see a huge army closing in, they will be more inclined to open the gate. And if not, we can always use the battle fodder.</p><p>- Yes, Prince Angus. Will there be any more orders?</p><p>Proletius was interrupted by the sound of bird wings outside one of the windows where a pigeon had decided to seek a better spot for a nap. A minor inconvenience for the Grand Master of Crail that still made him frown at the feathered bastards perching where they should not.</p><p>Angus, on the other hand, jumped to his feet and tensed, as his sight hopped from one window to the other, eyes bulging, lips in a thin line, breathing sped up as he grasped the hammer, as the prince sought for the invisible fiend, expecting them to descend into the War Room in an instant. At this moment he was, indeed, reminiscent of a madman, with a feverish gleam in his eyes and his hair ruffled, adding a tinge of insanity to his image.</p><p>The Grand Master Proletius stood to attention, his back straight, his shoulders drawn back, pretending he did not see his liege lord’s alarmed state.</p><p><i>“Should you see your monarch in a compromising state, you must pretend you saw nothing”</i>, had been one of the first things taught to the squires when they began their education at Crail.</p><p>And thus, the Grand Master Proletius of the Knights of Crail pretended he did not see the paranoia and fear in the Prince of Fife’s eyes once Angus’ heart had stopped racing and he had sunk back into the chair, returning slowly to his previous state.</p><p>Angus forced a pained smile, his face straining as the prince attempted to put on a careless façade. Everything Was Fine.</p><p>Ser Proletius pretended he did not see that, either.</p><p>- What was I about, again?</p><p>It was remarkable how much effort the Prince of Fife devoted to pronounce this sentence in a careless, disinterested voice, as though he would be inquiring about the dessert during an informal supper among family.</p><p>- Will there be more orders, Your Highness? – Proletius repeated his question.</p><p>- Ah, right. Not now. Anything from our dear barbarian friend?</p><p>There were more pauses to that sentence than Angus would have liked there to be, but neither of the men acknowledged it.</p><p>- No, Prince Angus. And I’d like to think it’s for the best, - Proletius snorted, clearly amused about something, - at least for now. I doubt the scribes would be too inclined on listening to me if I dropped by with the Hootsman in tow. They weren’t too inspired by his small fireworks. He <i>did</i> cost us a few valuable documents.</p><p>- It was funny, though.</p><p>- It sure was, Your Highness.</p><p>- Dismissed.</p><p>- Yes, Your Highness!</p><p>Door closed behind the knight’s back once more.</p><p>
  <i>Stuck-up butter-up, nothing more.</i>
</p><p>
  <i>It was so shallow, such…</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Was there even a word for it?</i>
</p><p>Angus leant his head back and closed his eyes for a moment, before staring up at the ceiling.</p><p>- I am doing what must be done, right?</p><p>The question echoed, hollow, in the room around him, bouncing off the high ceiling and the bare walls. Unfortunately, the room, just like its scarce interior, had no answer.</p><p>Following the question, however, there was a barely audible hum; a strange melody that had never been heard by mortal ears before, and a satisfied grin spread on the prince’s face, as he imitated the sound as fondly as if it were a lullaby from his childhood.</p><p>- Of course, I am! – Angus finally declared, to the empty space above him.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>In Angus' place I'd be paranoid, too. He probably sleeps with a dagger under his pillow, but you didn't hear that from me <s>Iona won't let him keep the hammer there</s>.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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